Enlightenment
is man's emergence from his self-imposed immaturity. Immaturity is the
inability to use one's understanding without guidance from another. This
immaturity is self-imposed when its cause lies not in lack of understanding,
but in lack of resolve and courage to use it without guidance from another.
Sapere Aude! [dare to know] "Have courage to use your own understanding!"that
is the motto of enlightenment.

Laziness
and cowardice are the reasons why so great a proportion of men, long after
nature has released them from alien guidance (naturaliter maiorennes),
nonetheless gladly remain in lifelong immaturity, and why it is so easy
for others to establish themselves as their guardians. It is so easy to
be immature. If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to
serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet for me, and so
on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay:
others will readily undertake the irksome work for me. The guardians who
have so benevolently taken over the supervision of men have carefully
seen to it that the far greatest part of them (including the entire fair
sex) regard taking the step to maturity as very dangerous, not to mention
difficult. Having first made their domestic livestock dumb, and having
carefully made sure that these docile creatures will not take a single
step without the go-cart to which they are harnessed, these guardians
then show them the danger that threatens them, should they attempt to
walk alone. Now this danger is not actually so great, for after falling
a few times they would in the end certainly learn to walk; but an example
of this kind makes men timid and usually frightens them out of all further
attempts.

Thus, it
is difficult for any individual man to work himself out of the immaturity
that has all but become his nature. He has even become fond of this state
and for the time being is actually incapable of using his own understanding,
for no one has ever allowed him to attempt it. Rules and formulas, those
mechanical aids to the rational use, or rather misuse, of his natural
gifts, are the shackles of a permanent immaturity. Whoever threw them
off would still make only an uncertain leap over the smallest ditch, since
he is unaccustomed to this kind of free movement. Consequently, only a
few have succeeded, by cultivating their own minds, in freeing themselves
from immaturity and pursuing a secure course.

But that
the public should enlighten itself is more likely; indeed, if it is only
allowed freedom, enlightenment is almost inevitable. For even among the
entrenched guardians of the great masses a few will always think for themselves,
a few who, after having themselves thrown off the yoke of immaturity,
will spread the spirit of a rational appreciation for both their own worth
and for each person's calling to think for himself. But it should be particularly
noted that if a public that was first placed in this yoke by the guardians
is suitably aroused by some of those who are altogether incapable of enlightenment,
it may force the guardians themselves to remain under the yokeso
pernicious is it to instill prejudices, for they finally take revenge
upon their originators, or on their descendants. Thus a public can only
attain enlightenment slowly. Perhaps a revolution can overthrow autocratic
despotism and profiteering or power-grabbing oppression, but it can never
truly reform a manner of thinking; instead, new prejudices, just like
the old ones they replace, will serve as a leash for the great unthinking
mass.

Nothing is
required for this enlightenment, however, except freedom; and the freedom
in question is the least harmful of all, namely, the freedom to use reason
publicly in all matters. But on all sides I hear: "Do not argue!"
The officer says, "Do not argue, drill!" The tax man says, "Do
not argue, pay!" The pastor says, "Do not argue, believe!"
(Only one ruler in the World says, "Argue as much as you want and
about what you want, but obey!") In this we have examples of pervasive
restrictions on freedom. But which restriction hinders enlightenment and
which does not, but instead actually advances it? I reply: The public
use of one's reason must always be free, and it alone can bring about
enlightenment among mankind; the private use of reason may, however, often
be very narrowly restricted, without otherwise hindering the progress
of enlightenment. By the public use of one's own reason I understand the
use that anyone as a scholar makes of reason before the entire literate
world. I call the private use of reason that which a person may make in
a civic post or office that has been entrusted to him. Now in many affairs
conducted in the interests of a community, a certain mechanism is required
by means of which some of its members must conduct themselves in an entirely
passive manner so that through an artificial unanimity the government
may guide them toward public ends, or at least prevent them from destroying
such ends. Here one certainly must not argue, instead one must obey. However,
insofar as this part of the machine also regards himself as a member of
the community as a whole, or even of the world community, and as a consequence
addresses the public in the role of a scholar, in the proper sense of
that term, he can most certainly argue, without thereby harming the affairs
for which as a passive member he is partly responsible. Thus it would
be disastrous if an officer on duty who was given a command by his superior
were to question the appropriateness or utility of the order. He must
obey. But as a scholar he cannot be justly constrained from making comments
about errors in military service, or from placing them before the public
for its judgment. The citizen cannot refuse to pay the taxes imposed on
him; indeed, impertinent criticism of such levies, when they should be
paid by him, can be punished as a scandal (since it can lead to widespread
insubordination). But the same person does not act contrary to civic duty
when, as a scholar, he publicly expresses his thoughts regarding the impropriety
or even injustice of such taxes. Likewise, a pastor is bound to instruct
his catecumens and congregation in accordance with the symbol of the church
he serves, for he was appointed on that condition. But as a scholar he
has complete freedom, indeed even the calling, to impart to the public
all of his carefully considered and well-intentioned thoughts concerning
mistaken aspects of that symbol, as well as his suggestions for the better
arrangement of religious and church matters. Nothing in this can weigh
on his conscience. What he teaches in consequence of his office as a servant
of the church he sets out as something with regard to which he has no
discretion to teach in accord with his own lights; rather, he offers it
under the direction and in the name of another. He will say, "Our
church teaches this or that and these are the demonstrations it uses."
He thereby extracts for his congregation all practical uses from precepts
to which he would not himself subscribe with complete conviction, but
whose presentation he can nonetheless undertake, since it is not entirely
impossible that truth lies hidden in them, and, in any case, nothing contrary
to the very nature of religion is to be found in them. If he believed
he could find anything of the latter sort in them, he could not in good
conscience serve in his position; he would have to resign. Thus an appointed
teacher's use of his reason for the sake of his congregation is merely
private, because, however large the congregation is, this use is always
only domestic; in this regard, as a priest, he is not free and cannot
be such because he is acting under instructions from someone else. By
contrast, the clericas a scholar who speaks through his writings
to the public as such, i.e., the worldenjoys in this public use
of reason an unrestricted freedom to use his own rational capacities and
to speak his own mind. For that the (spiritual) guardians of a people
should themselves be immature is an absurdity that would insure the perpetuation
of absurdities.

But would
a society of pastors, perhaps a church assembly or venerable presbytery
(as those among the Dutch call themselves), not be justified in binding
itself by oath to a certain unalterable symbol in order to secure a constant
guardianship over each of its members and through them over the people,
and this for all time: I say that this is wholly impossible. Such a contract,
whose intention is to preclude forever all further enlightenment of the
human race, is absolutely null and void, even if it should be ratified
by the supreme power, by parliaments, and by the most solemn peace treaties.
One age cannot bind itself, and thus conspire, to place a succeeding one
in a condition whereby it would be impossible for the later age to expand
its knowledge (particularly where it is so very important), to rid itself
of errors, and generally to increase its enlightenment. That would be
a crime against human nature, whose essential destiny lies precisely in
such progress; subsequent generations are thus completely justified in
dismissing such agreements as unauthorized and criminal. The criterion
of everything that can be agreed upon as a law by a people lies in this
question: Can a people impose such a law on itself? Now it might be possible,
in anticipation of a better state of affairs, to introduce a provisional
order for a specific, short time, all the while giving all citizens, especially
clergy, in their role as scholars, the freedom to comment publicly, i.e.,
in writing, on the present institution's shortcomings. The provisional
order might last until insight into the nature of these matters had become
so widespread and obvious that the combined (if not unanimous) voices
of the populace could propose to the crown that it take under its protection
those congregations that, in accord with their newly gained insight, had
organized themselves under altered religious institutions, but without
interfering with those wishing to allow matters to remain as before. However,
it is absolutely forbidden that they unite into a religious organization
that nobody may for the duration of a man's lifetime publicly question,
for so doing would deny, render fruitless, and make detrimental to succeeding
generations an era in man's progress toward improvement. A man may put
off enlightenment with regard to what he ought to know, though only for
a short time and for his own person; but to renounce it for himself, or,
even more, for subsequent generations, is to violate and trample man's
divine rights underfoot. And what a people may not decree for itself may
still less be imposed on it by a monarch, for his lawgiving authority
rests on his unification of the people's collective will in his own. If
he only sees to it that all genuine or purported improvement is consonant
with civil order, he can allow his subjects to do what they find necessary
to their spiritual well-being, which is not his affair. However, he must
prevent anyone from forcibly interfering with another's working as best
he can to determine and promote his well-being. It detracts from his own
majesty when he interferes in these matters, since the writings in which
his subjects attempt to clarify their insights lend value to his conception
of governance. This holds whether he acts from his own highest insightwhereby
he calls upon himself the reproach, "Caesar non eat supra grammaticos."'as
well as, indeed even more, when he despoils his highest authority by supporting
the spiritual despotism of some tyrants in his state over his other subjects.

If it is
now asked, "Do we presently live in an enlightened age?" the
answer is, "No, but we do live in an age of enlightenment."
As matters now stand, a great deal is still lacking in order for men as
a whole to be, or even to put themselves into a position to be able without
external guidance to apply understanding confidently to religious issues.
But we do have clear indications that the way is now being opened for
men to proceed freely in this direction and that the obstacles to general
enlightenment--to their release from their self-imposed immaturity--are
gradually diminishing. In this regard, this age is the age of enlightenment,
the century of Frederick.

A prince
who does not find it beneath him to say that he takes it to be his duty
to prescribe nothing, but rather to allow men complete freedom in religious
matterswho thereby renounces the arrogant title of toleranceis
himself enlightened and deserves to be praised by a grateful present and
by posterity as the first, at least where the government is concerned,
to release the human race from immaturity and to leave everyone free to
use his own reason in all matters of conscience. Under his rule, venerable
pastors, in their role as scholars and without prejudice to their official
duties, may freely and openly set out for the world's scrutiny their judgments
and views, even where these occasionally differ from the accepted symbol.
Still greater freedom is afforded to those who are not restricted by an
official post. This spirit of freedom is expanding even where it must
struggle against the external obstacles of governments that misunderstand
their own function. Such governments are illuminated by the example that
the existence of freedom need not give cause for the least concern regarding
public order and harmony in the commonwealth. If only they refrain from
inventing artifices to keep themselves in it, men will gradually raise
themselves from barbarism.

I have focused
on religious matters in setting out my main point concerning enlightenment,
i.e., man's emergence from self-imposed immaturity, first because our
rulers have no interest in assuming the role of their subjects' guardians
with respect to the arts and sciences, and secondly because that form
of immaturity is both the most pernicious and disgraceful of all. But
the manner of thinking of a head of state who favors religious enlightenment
goes even further, for he realizes that there is no danger to his legislation
in allowing his subjects to use reason publicly and to set before the
world their thoughts concerning better formulations of his laws, even
if this involves frank criticism of legislation currently in effect. We
have before us a shining example, with respect to which no monarch surpasses
the one whom we honor.

But only
a ruler who is himself enlightened and has no dread of shadows, yet who
likewise has a well-disciplined, numerous army to guarantee public peace,
can say what no republic may dare, namely: "Argue as much as you
want and about what you want, but obey!" Here as elsewhere, when
things are considered in broad perspective, a strange, unexpected pattern
in human affairs reveals itself, one in which almost everything is paradoxical.
A greater degree of civil freedom seems advantageous to a people's spiritual
freedom; yet the former established impassable boundaries for the latter;
conversely, a lesser degree of civil freedom provides enough room for
all fully to expand their abilities. Thus, once nature has removed the
hard shell from this kernel for which she has most fondly cared, namely,
the inclination to and vocation for free thinking, the kernel gradually
reacts on a people's mentality (whereby they become increasingly able
to act freely), and it finally even influences the principles of government,
which finds that it can profit by treating men, who are now more than
machines, in accord with their dignity.

° unmündig:
This German term covers two conditions that in English and American
law are distinguished as "non compos mentis" (a Latin term
applied to adults who cannot manage their own affairs, because they
"dont have mastery of their minds") and "minority"
in the sense of "not being of age." It comes from the word
Mund ("mouth"), and thus literally means "not being able
to speak for oneself. Correspondingly, the term for "legal guardian"
is Vormünder  "one who speaks for another." (Lyman
A. Baker)